V Is For
by monkey-in-hell
Summary: Short ish story.


A/N I was supposed to be writing something else but this barged its way in and demanded to be written instead. I wouldn't mind so much but it's just a bit of silly nonsense...

V is for

As Gene took a hard left, she bit back the retort that had travelled, just as quickly as the car was moving, towards her lips. Three months in and she still wasn't used to his 'method' of driving, which quite frankly consisted of fast and hard, no matter how many other road users were about. But it wasn't really his driving that was bothering her – something else had her spooked. A little lost, and just as confused, after her failure to prevent her parents from dying so horribly, she'd stumbled haphazardly through the last few weeks, trying to ascertain what the hell was going on, what it all meant, and how she could now get home. But she had also started to wonder if she was in fact already dead; if there was no way home for her.

"What is that smell?" Ray asked from the back seat, wrinkling his nose in disgust and looking pointedly at the source.

Chris fidgeted nervously on his seat, moving slightly away from the man sat next to him and his gaze. "What smell?" he asked innocently.

"It's garlic," Alex interjected tiredly from the front of the car, hoping to avoid the bickering that would follow if she didn't say something. It'd been a long day; longer than they usually felt - if that was possible in this facsimile of a world she'd barely remembered until she'd been dropped right in the middle of it. She briefly wondered if that was perhaps some kind of hint towards her status in the real world but, in this reality, the length of the day probably had more to do with the case, and its weighty background, than anything else. Just as it was responsible for her current state of mind.

Her morbid thoughts, which had crept so slowly upon her in the preceding weeks, had reached their summit today; the spirit of the day, of All Hallows' Eve, had somehow wormed its way into her thoughts, subsequently tainting everything it came into contact with. For much of the day images of ghosts and ghouls and other such supernatural nonsense had seemed to be all around her and she couldn't help but wonder, subconsciously at least, if it was the biggest clue of all. This was the day when the divide between the dead and the living became blurred; but what did that mean for her?

She'd grown accustomed to the spectre of her death hanging over her but the case itself had only magnified those sombre thoughts. The Grim Reaper, or perhaps her warped mind, had thrown everything it had at her earlier today with a call out to a cemetery and to the body of a young girl who had been discovered there. Standing in a graveyard in the cool early morning light wouldn't normally have bothered her but being forced to navigate her way past the greying, weather beaten, erect slabs of stone that had peppered the crime scene had torn jaggedly into her heart, serving as another haunting reminder of her parents' deaths - and of her own mortality. Her day had steadily worsened from then on.

She heard, rather than saw, Ray smack Chris about his person for being so soft and she felt a little guilty for saying something, especially given her own emerging doubts about the case; were her morbid thoughts directing the investigation or was it the other way around? As Gene hit a straight stretch of road and sped up she decided that she couldn't really be sure.

DC Skelton's rather animated assertion earlier today - that a Vampire was somehow responsible for this morning's incident - had taken them all by surprise. When he'd suggested it, stood over the pale lifeless body of what had been a very beautiful young girl, they'd all stared at him wordlessly; herself in pure disbelief, Gene with a stony pout that she could only assume passed for annoyed though it was difficult to tell, and Ray with pure disgust. It'd been the Sergeant who had finally broken the silence by denouncing Chris a 'div' - doled out with a dismissive shake of the head.

It had been an outlandish conclusion to draw - even for Chris - though she suspected his thoughts were centred on the angry looking mark on the neck of the victim and the lack of any other obvious cause of death. And of course on the date. And he'd probably been influenced by the number of 'video nastys' she knew he'd been watching. But, as the name calling had died down, it had crossed her mind that he might be closer to the truth than any of them had given him credit for; true, there was no such thing as a real, live Vampire but their killer could be someone who believed they were, or at least wanted to be one, and had attempted to act out their fantasy. She had spent most of the morning back at the station trying to convince Gene of that without sounding as if she was agreeing with Chris, which was how Gene had, deliberately she was sure, seemed intent on misconstruing her theory as.

Gene brought the car to a controlled stop outside of their destination, killing the engine and briefly glancing at his passengers. "Let's go see if the Prince of Darkness is home, shall we?" he asked, with just a dollop of sarcasm, before he opened the door and left the vehicle.

She wasn't sure who the barb was aimed at: herself or Chris. Ray chuckled to himself anyway. Gene may have been scathing of Chris' theory but he wasn't exactly enamoured by hers either when she'd finally got him to take her seriously. In truth, she wasn't so sure herself anymore. It pained her to admit as much, so she hadn't - not out loud anyway - but as the day had wound on she'd had, inconceivably, started to wonder if Chris might just be right.

Their victim had ultimately died of heart failure but not before being drained of blood; not all of it but enough for the heart to give up. Chris had managed to refrain from shouting 'I told you so' at the news - the look in his eyes had suggested to her that it was enough proof for him - and she'd been more unsettled by the news than she should have been, especially when it had transpired that there were two puncture marks on the victim's neck rather than one. She was still convinced at that point that some lunatic, maybe part of a cult or with a taste for blood, would be responsible. There was even a condition, a mental disorder, which fuelled an obsession with drinking blood. It was unlikely but not impossible; it had to be more plausible than Chris' explanation but then, as she kept telling herself, this wasn't really 1981 - did those rules even apply here? And that thought had been slowly chipping away at her sanity.

With a small sigh to herself, in a vain attempt to shake herself out of insanity's grip, she followed Gene's lead and exited the car, craning her neck as she rose out of the vehicle to take in the view of the imposing building ahead of her; with the sun sitting low behind and the gathering dark clouds above it the address appeared almost threatening and she blamed her psyche entirely for that. Her eyes strayed down the darkening stonework to the unlit neon sign placed above the entrance that, when powered, would etch the name of 'The Castle' into the night sky. A little sign that had furthered Chris' case, if he'd had the nerve to say anything, and one that she was forced to tell herself was nothing more than coincidence. Just as the owner's recent move to Britain from Eastern Europe was nothing more than happenstance. As was Ray's turn of phrase when he'd discovered that their suspect had bought this building with the intention of 'revamping it' into a night club. Her mind was playing tricks on her; that was all it was. It was the perfect day for tricks and treats, horrors and pranks, fun and frights. She shivered involuntarily, wishing that her mind wasn't so damn good at all of this.

"It'll be dark soon," Chris said out loud, his voice only just betraying a hint of uncertainty, as he clambered out of the car in the Guv's wake.

"For the last time, Vampires are not real!" Ray shouted at the younger man across the roof of the car, following it up with a warning glare as he shut the car door firmly, and - metaphorically speaking - closing the lid on that particular subject.

Alex slowed to a halt at the entrance to the club, watching Gene alternately press the buzzer and bang his fist on the door – both for periods longer than was strictly necessary – whilst Ray began to pace along the front of the building, either looking for a different entrance or for signs of life from within. Beside her Chris stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, the faintest whiff of garlic still surrounding him, trying his best not to look nervous and she wondered how much garlic he'd consumed or if he was just wearing it. And why he had to mention that night was about to fall. She hugged her own jacket tighter about her body, trying to persuade herself that it was only the cool October evening, and her own mind, that was responsible for the chill that was now settling across her bones and nothing more.

When the door finally opened, with an accompanying creak, she had to fight against the shiver that shot up her spine. She was a logical woman, she didn't believe in any of this nonsense. She was not the suggestible type either. She wasn't. If anything she should have found it all amusing.

The man behind the door – of average height, a little bedraggled looking and pale skinned – wore only surprise at the sight of his visitors but he looked exactly like the man that had been described to them; the same man who had been seen hurrying their victim into the building the previous evening.

"Police. We want to speak to Mr Schreck," Gene barked when the man asked, in a nervous but distinctly English accent, if he could help.

Gene was convinced that their murderer was the owner of the club, hence the speedy journey over here. Though there'd been no ID on the body of the girl her flat mate, worried that her friend had not returned home, had reported her as missing earlier in the afternoon. After a traumatic identification and tear filled questioning it had transpired that their dead girl's last known whereabouts had been at this very club, for an interview, the previous evening; the flat mate had dropped her off there early yesterday evening. Gene had perked up at the name of the owner and had dropped some comment about 'bloody foreigners' that Alex had only half listened to as she had been caught up on the German translation of the name. She'd laughed out loud at the meaning, at the crazy things her mind seemed able to come up with at the drop of a hat, at the odd feeling of nervousness that had swept over her at that point, but she had only earned herself a steely gaze from her DCI in the process.

"Ah," the man stuttered, his eyes flashing briefly at the mention of who they were, before casting a quick glance over his shoulder into the gloomy distance behind him. "He's downstairs in his... office. Not to be disturbed. Can I be of assistance?"

"And who the hell are you?"

"I'm Harker, Mr Schreck's solicitor."

Alex, choosing to write the name off as yet another coincidence, reached for the photo of their dead girl from inside of her pocket, her free arm still hugging her torso, and waved it under the nose of Harker, watching his reactions closely. The man was nervous about something and it crossed her mind that he could be their murderer rather than Schreck. "This woman was last seen here, she had an interview for a job with Mr Schreck."

Harker shrugged in denial but she was certain that he had recognised their victim. They had a witness to prove as much but Harker continued to brazen it out. "I've never seen her before. I wasn't even here last night."

"Right," Gene growled as he barged past the man and into the club. "You can discuss that further with my colleagues whilst my DI and I speak to Schreck."

Alex tucked the photo back into her pocket and followed him through the door, ignoring Harker's mild appeals as she brushed easily by him. Ray and Chris brought up the rear, preventing the other man from protesting, or restraining them, further. Harker most certainly knew something, his body language suggested as much, and Gene must have thought he was guilty of something too, given his directions towards Ray and Chris though she was sure that Gene relied more upon his gut instinct than psychology. They were nearly the same thing.

Walking into a dimly lit corridor she ignored the fading protests of the solicitor as Ray 'talked' to him and she tried to ignore the awful, sudden feeling that she was swapping the sanctity and the safety of the fading light outside for the immorality and the danger of the growing darkness inside, recanting the mantra that Vampires did not exist. She tried to keep up with Gene's pace as he strode purposefully through the ground floor but whether she was doing so out of a sense of duty or because of that rising sense of fear she wasn't sure. There didn't seem to be much in the way of lighting, with the site still undergoing refurbishment and it was difficult to discern much at all other than Gene, who seemed to be leading them aimlessly around. After finding a stairwell that led only upwards, and into what looked like more gloom, she wondered where Harker had been and exactly what he had been doing in the blackness but those thoughts disappeared into the dark at the sound of a dull thud behind her. She paused at the noise, holding in her breath, straining to hear more. "Did you hear something?" she called out softly to Gene's retreating back, unable or unwilling to look behind her own. She kept her limited sight focussed upon him and found herself rather relieved when he stopped in response to her question.

"No," Gene replied gruffly after a moment of consideration, turning his head a little to look at her as he did so, then continued onwards. She took a step forward of her own, straining to detect anything further but there was nothing except their own movements through the eerie stillness. Had she imagined it or was it like the clown that had dogged her since she'd arrived here in that it was only obvious to her? She shook her head at that thought and hurried her pace, keeping ever closer to Gene and trying to focus upon the case in hand. Spotting a doorway in the corner of the room she pointed it out to Gene who promptly took the lead once more, storming ahead to find the door slightly ajar.

Descending down a flight of stairs they emerged into a smaller room and the light improved somewhat. There was now a dull, blood red glow surrounding them, emanating from the few lamps that were attached to the walls at irregular intervals though it did nothing to lighten the dark feelings that had been stalking her since she'd stepped inside of 'The Castle'. Maybe her time really was up and her brain, in its final death throes, had abandoned all logic and reasoning and was intent on giving her a horror movie ending, with her in the role of the damsel in distress.

"That must be his office," Gene deduced, cutting through that thought and thoroughly at ease with the circumstances and their surroundings. His arm rose, indicating through the gloom towards the area at the rear of the room where she could just about make out a door on the far wall.

"Gene," she began quickly, as those feelings of unease crept up another notch, and she reached out for him, holding him back. Yet the sentence went unfinished. What exactly could she say? That she had a bad feeling about this? That for most of the day her mind had seemed to be conjuring up memories of every film she'd ever watched and every book she'd ever read regarding Vampires and she was afraid of what they'd find behind that door? He already thought she was crazy. Maybe she was. In the dim light she couldn't quite work out his features; the shadows, and his posture, were making it difficult but his response, as she dropped her hold on his arm, sparkled with clarity.

"You don't really believe this nonsense do you?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone probably at the thought that the 'oh so logical Alex Drake' was getting sucked into Chris' delusions.

"No, of course not," she snapped quickly, annoyed at the suggestion and that he had correctly sensed the reason for her hesitation. She'd heard all the stick Chris had received and though she didn't agree with the oral abuse - or even with Chris, though her mind seemed intent on persuading her otherwise in that respect - she knew that the whole thing was silly. It was stupid and ridiculous and far fetched. She reminded herself once again that it was all in her mind. And, really, if she stood back and looked at it objectively in the cool clinical light of day, it was all in her mind. But, surrounded by the dark, her mind seemed to be in no mood to co-operate.

"It's just... creepy," she murmured truthfully even if it meant confirming her unease, even if it was completely irrational. "Gives me the chills," she added on quietly.

"Need someone to warm you up, Bols?"

In the gloom, and even though he was now looking directly at her, she couldn't tell if he was taking the piss or not. She couldn't make out if his eyes were reflecting the warmth of his voice or the leering suggestiveness of his words. Either way, and despite her best efforts to the contrary, she was severely tempted to take him up on the suggestion. If her mind was setting her up as the helpless maiden then it had already cast him as her protector, her hero, in this world - and he was very good at the role. He'd slay a Vampire for her, she was sure. "Let's just get this over with," she said, avoiding giving him an answer and taking a reluctant step forward, convincing herself that Gene had to be right, that logically there could be no other outcome; they would speak to, and most likely arrest, their suspect and get out of there. Case closed.

Reaching the door first Gene didn't bother knocking, happily barging into the lit room, the fresh light spilling out into the gloom and highlighting him in all his magnificence. Her breath caught in her throat for the second time that night but only momentarily as Gene came to a dead stop just inside of the door: "Bloody hell!"

She hurried her pace at his exclamation, following him into the office, not sure exactly what she was expecting to see. The way her mind had been working these last few hours it could have been a coffin, or a pool of thick red liquid, or a mythical blood sucking Count at the very least. Strangely enough, what she hadn't expected to see was a rather mundane looking, but empty, office. Rationally it was the obvious outcome and she silently berated herself for thinking otherwise. And then loudly berated Gene for fooling her: "Bastard."

"Trick or treat, Bols," he smiled at her in defence.

In the light the room now afforded them she could clearly see the grin on his face and the twinkle in his eyes. She stared at him defiantly, trying to remain annoyed but found herself enjoying the sight, as she rarely saw him smile, too much and, eventually, she couldn't help smile too – partly in relief and partly at him.

She wasn't sure if it was the clean light of the office or the moment of light relief but she felt infinitely more sober. After a long quiet moment they mutually dropped their gazes and she edged further into the room, her eyes now scanning the scene rather than him, and with more scepticism than she'd displayed previously. "Looks like he was here recently," she said quietly and Gene, taking a quick look around the office himself, agreed with her.

"Bet the bastard's made a run for it," he said, sending a quick glance in her direction before heading out of the office and, his words and actions understood, she followed him once more, the reality of the situation quickly sinking in now her mind was clearing.

They made the journey back upstairs with more haste than their descent but in complete silence. She could feel the growing annoyance at owner's disappearance radiating from Gene, at the failure to get their hands on their suspect. Her own anger was growing too but directed mostly at herself for her earlier unfounded doubts. Stepping back towards the still open entrance, and the glow from the street lighting that was now poking inside and illuminating her colleagues, she began to wonder how she had ever come so close to thinking that there might just be a different explanation to the case.

"Guv?" Ray questioned with disappointment at the sight of both his superiors returning empty-handed.

"Chris, get plod down here - I want this place searched properly." The younger man made a swift, and possibly relieved, exit from the club. "And have Viv put out an alert for Schreck," Gene shouted sharply at the retreating form of his DC before turning his attention to Harker. "Where is he?"

"He's not downstairs?" the man asked, appearing to be genuinely surprised.

Gene grabbed him roughly by the collar of his shirt, ignoring Alex's brief murmur of protest, and pushed him roughly up against the wall. "You know he's not. So where did he go?"

"I don't know - he was in his office," Harker protested and Alex believed him; he sounded - and looked - like a man who had no idea of what was going on. Maybe Schreck had been down there when they'd arrived; maybe the noise she had heard had been him, with the advantage of the dark and knowledge of the layout, making his escape. "He called me down to his office last night. He said it'd been an accident and to get rid of her body," Harker blurted out in the face of an angry DCI Hunt inches from his own and no doubt with the dawning realisation that he was being left with the blame.

Alex sighed softly to herself again as Gene relaxed his hold on Harker and barked at Ray to get him out of his sight. Their suspect was nothing more than flesh and blood, like everyone else - and just as culpable - but Gene was right: he could be anywhere now. She followed Ray, who had roughly cuffed the solicitor and was pushing him forwards, out of the building and that wave of unease was now a calm sea, her bones no longer felt numb. She allowed herself a small, unseen, smile at the depths of her own imagination and at the thought that she would be here longer; at the thought that she wasn't dead, not yet anyway; at the realisation that she would have to suffer Gene's driving - and him - for a bit longer.

Gene followed her out and they found Chris outside, standing half on the street and half on the road, finishing up a conversation with Viv. Above them all something dark and small swept from the roof of 'The Castle' towards the building opposite and landed with quiet ease, appearing to observe the scene below cautiously.

"Is that...?" Chris began, the hand holding onto the police radio rising upwards to point out what he'd seen but, as his colleagues stared at him in ignorance, he quickly thought better of it.


End file.
